


it's the season of eyes meeting over the noise

by apollothyme, thesilverwitch



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, Footy Secret Santa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverwitch/pseuds/thesilverwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is a graphic designer for an online magazine in the heart of Madrid and Toni is the hot, mysterious and german guy working at IT who fixes James' computer whenever the stupid thing stops working. Excused to say, it’s a love story bound to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the season of eyes meeting over the noise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baleshark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baleshark/gifts).



> This fic was written for the [Footy Secret Santa](http://footy_ssanta.livejournal.com/).

It’s already raining by the time James leaves his apartment on a lifeless Tuesday morning, hours after the sun has risen. However, it’s only a light sprinkle then, a curtain of mist hanging in the air. James arrives at the subway station on time and no worse for the wear.

The same cannot be said for when he arrives at the headquarters of the magazine he works at. By then, there is an ocean pouring from the closed skies, the streets are beginning to flood and the entire city of Madrid is entering ‘panic, panic, holy fuck, panic’ mode. It transforms what should have been a quiet walk from the Tetuán station to Blanco into a tumultuous swim through watery hell that sends his umbrella flying down the street.

All in all, not the best start to his day.

Still, things could be worse, James thinks, just as the cup of coffee he’s holding disintegrates into a disgusting, papery mess and dumps all his coffee on his new shoes, ruining them past the point of recovery.

Alright. Never mind that then.

“Whoa, what happened to you? You look like you fell into a pool and drowned,” Marcelo says when he first sees him.

His desk is in front of James’, which gives him the perfect view of James dragging himself out of the elevator and dumping his messenger bag—waterproof, thank fuck— on the floor and his jacket—not waterproof—on his chair.

“In case you couldn’t tell, the apocalypse has started outside and I got caught in it,” James replies. He takes off his shoes and throws them underneath his desk, where he knows Marcelo has their shared heater already turned on. Next are his socks, which suffer a similar fate if not for the way James carefully lies them on the floor, in a position where they’ll dry the quickest.

When he’s done with those, James looks down at his shirt and pants. Blanco is pretty lax on office wear, but he’s sure even Mr. Ancelotti would have something to say if he decided to work in his underwear. Not to mention that he’d never hear the end of it from his coworkers and Sergio would have pictures on Facebook before lunch hour.

“I would offer you something dry to wear, but all I’ve got are my dirty workout clothes and I don’t think you want those,” Marcelo says once he notices James’ struggle.

James wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, no thanks. I think I’ll just stay like this and risk death by hypothermia.”

James sits down slowly, cringing at the moisture seeping into his skin from his wet clothes. The fact that he chose to wear tight jeans to work today, of all days, will forever remain one of the world’s dumbest decisions. He turns on his Mac and then spends the next few seconds wondering if the hand dryer in the bathroom is powerful enough to at least dry his hair. 

Isco and Cristiano show up around that time, Cristiano looking his usual impeccable, pristine self and Isco looking like a drowned puppy. He and James share a look of understanding that only people who have gone through hell and survived can share while Cristiano looks at James in amusement and leaves his cup of coffee on James’ desk.

“You look like you need it, kid,” he says before he shares a fist bump with Marcelo and strolls away.

James wants to be annoyed at Cristiano calling him a “kid”—he’s twenty-two for crying out loud—but Cristiano buys his coffee from the fancy, gourmet shop two blocks away and if there’s one thing in life more important than a man’s pride it’s fancy, gourmet coffee.

James closes his eyes and sighs in contentment while he takes a sip of the drink and wraps his hands around the hot cup.

“You look as if you’re about to have an orgasm,” Isco tells him. James refuses to let his moment of peace be disturbed by such comments.

“This is the highest point of my day so far. Let me have this,” he says. He would offer Isco a sip of his drink if he didn't know Isco kept a change of clothes in his desk, which means he’ll be warm and dry for the rest of the day while James grows algae in his pants. Isco can go get his own damned coffee.

Isco chuckles, flicking James’ ear before he leaves for his desk. James stays curled around the paper cup until he finally decides to be productive and opens his eyes. He’s greeted with a black screen. He blinks. The screen is still black.

He pokes the power button for the second time that day and is not surprised when he gets no reaction from his computer. For a magazine about technology and all that’s new, cool and hip, Blanco hasn’t been that great with giving James an actual working computer that doesn’t break down at least once a week.

James groans and drops his head on his arms. Today is so not his day.

“Did you break your computer again?” Marcelo asks.

“I didn’t break it. It broke itself,” James whines.

“Please! We all know you sneak in at night and download porn full of viruses just so you can call hot, mysterious and german over at IT,” Isco shouts all the way over on the other side of the opposite, making a few heads turn around to stare at James at amusement.

“First of all, I do not download porn, much less porn with viruses. We all know that’s Benzema’s thing,” James shouts back.

He earns an indignant  “Hey!” from the french man for his comment that gets everyone cackling.

“Second,” James continues, although this much quieter, speaking under his breath, “we don’t even know if he’s hot.”

“What?” Isco asks when he doesn’t catch the second part of James’ answer.

“I said Iker would kill me if I did any of that!”

“Damn right I would,” Iker says as he enters the office, Sergio trailing behind him with a knowing smirk.

They both look ruffled, with Iker’s hair stretching out in all directions, Sergio’s shirt untucked and a general aura of debauchery surrounding them. The sight makes James looks away. Staring at Iker and Sergio is like staring at his mom and dad after they had sex, only worse because at least his parents keep it in their pants while other people are around.

James turns around and picks up the phone on his desk. He doesn’t bother to look at the number scribbled on a post-it note near the phone holder before he dials IT.

“You should ask hot, mysterious and german out while he fixes your Mac instead of just flirting with him like you always do,” Marcelo tells him while James waits for the call to be connected.

“I can’t do that!” James makes a horrified face. “I don’t even know anything about him, also— Hi!” he says, changing his tone when he hears the chirping noise that means his call is being connected.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” hot, mysterious and german from IT asks on the other side of the line.

“So, my computer won’t turn on.”

“Let me guess, extension 132 on the third floor?” the IT guy asks, making James laugh.

“Do you even get calls from anyone else?” 

“Occasionally, but you’re our most frequent caller. You’ve got the best odds for this year’s contest. We pick someone from all the calls we’ve received and they win a trip to Barcelona for two,” the IT guy says in a sing-song voice. In the background, James can hear the sound of writing on a keyboard. The screen on his Mac lights up in its default, malfunction white.

“Really?” James asks.

“No, but you might get a new computer. I’m pretty sure yours is a goner by now and we’re just bringing it back for more pain.”

“Oh, come on, don’t say that. Now you’re making me feel lousy about trying to work and Iker doesn’t need more reasons to kill me,” James says. He’s smiling so hard it’s beginning to hurt, the muscles in his face too cold to be pushed like this.

In front of him, Marcelo turns his Mac around so James can look at the screen. ‘At least ask his name!’ is written on a word document.

“Casillas? He visited us one time when his laptop broke down. He had to leave it here for a week and he called every day to check if we’d fixed it already. I think Modric was about to have a meltdown,” IT guy whispers conspiratorially. 

James laughs because yes, that does sound like something his boss would do. Then he’d wonder why emails with grumpy cat photos circulated around the office for over a month with the caption ‘Grumpy Iker’.

“Is it just the two of you there?” James asks. It’s not that he’s desperate to know more about the IT guy with the german accent who always fixes his computer and makes him laugh or anything like it. He’s just curious, you know, in a normal, friendly way not at all related with how James may or may not have a crush on the hot, mysterious and german IT guy.

“Also Bale and Carvajal. We mainly work on the website, make sure everything is up and running and that nothing’s died overnight, but we also do the basic IT work when it’s needed,” IT guy, who is apparently not an IT guy at all, says, making James cringe at all the times he’s called. All this time, he thought he was bothering an intern who spent the rest of his day playing Solitaire and looking up vines on Youtube.

“ _Joder_ , I feel so bad now. I didn’t know this wasn’t your real job and that you had other shit to do, man. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind the work,” hot, mysterious and german says as he laughs.

“I still feel bad,” James runs his fingers over the keyboard. His Mac is working again and asking for his password.

“Don’t, you’re fun to talk to,” he says, coughing before he adds, “Your computer should be working again.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be killed by your evil boss probably. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when your computer breaks down again.” James’ heart does a weird twist at the mention of them talking again tomorrow.

He’s so screwed. He doesn’t even know the guys’ name, which, speaking of, he should fix that. At least that way everyone can stop referring to him as hot, mysterious and german and they can all start pretending they’re normal human beings.

“Hey, before you hang up, what’s your name? I never caught it,” he says, getting a thumbs up from Marcelo and half the room since apparently no one in this office knows about the concept of ‘privacy’.

“Toni. You?”

“James,” he says.

“Nice talking to you, James,” he pronounces the ‘s’ at the end with too much strength, the thick of his accent coming out, but that doesn’t stop James from smiling at the sound.

James hangs up the phone as Marcelo shouts, “They’ve moved onto first name basis! It’s all happening, people!” 

This results in cheers and people clapping all around the office. Varane has the indecency to pull James into a hug as he passes by and Sergio gets up just so he can ruffle James’ hair.

Assholes, every single one of them. It’s a wonder why James puts up with it and calls most of them his best friends and spends about every waking minute with them. Complete, damn wonder.

James manages to work for three hours until he’s hit by a train of sneezes that leave his head spinning and make someone say, “for god’s sake kid, just go buy a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. We don’t want you freezing to death for the sake of getting our beautiful magazine advertised on every Youtube video people open.” 

James nods and puts on his socks with shaky fingers.

He’s tight on money right now, having blown his already small-sized bank account on gifts for his family and the price of shipping them back home, but there’s a Primark close by and he can stop to get lunch at his favourite deli place on the way back.

He buys Hufflepuff sweatpants because they’re on sale and James’ mother gave him the first book after he turned eleven in the hopes that it’d get him into reading more and playing around less. It didn’t, but they did make him a fan of the series. He buys a sweatshirt to match, because why not, and then while he’s at it some new socks as well. 

There’s already a line at the deli by the time James gets there, which is no surprise. They offer the cheapest meals in the neighborhood, the doses are big and the food delicious. James decides to get something for Marcelo as well so he can use it as a bartering piece when he asks for a ride home later.

He power walks back to the office when it starts to rain again, dumping the food on his desk as soon as he gets there. He then picks up his new clothes and starts cutting their tags.

“Hey, did you get me something?” Marcelo asks. He gets up to peer into the paper bag, which James moves away at the last second.

“I might have, but you and your lovely Toyota need to pay for it,” James smirks.

“Fine. I was going to give you a ride home anyway,” Marcelo says and takes his bagel.

James shrugs and goes to the bathroom to change.

Being in dry clothes is a definite improvement to his earlier predicament, but as the afternoon drags on the sneezes keep coming and an ache settles in at the bottom of James’ throat that makes it hard for him to swallow. By the time Marcelo throws a paper ball at him and says, “Come on, let’s go. I want to catch the newest episode of Masterchef,” James is more than willing to get up and drag his feet to the exit.

If, however, James thought he felt dreadful on Tuesday, it is nothing compared to the body numbing pain he wakes up to on Wednesday. Every part of his body hurts as if he’d been slammed by a truck overnight while he slept. His throat is killing him, his head is throbbing, his nose is so clogged that he can’t even breathe from it anymore and he wakes up on a pool of his own sweat. He also looks disgusting, the reflection on his bathroom mirror making him feel worse than he already does.

He powers through a shower, almost passes out and spends ten minutes staring at his fridge questioning the pointlessness of life. He calls it a quits when his head slips into his cereal after he’s too weak to hold it up.

“Iker, I don’t think I can come into work today,” James whispers through the phone, every word formed with pain and misery.

“Oh god, definitely don’t. I knew I should have sent you home yesterday after you came in carrying half the Mediterranean,” Iker says. On the background, James can hear Sergio asking if that’s ‘little James’.

James tries to laugh, which only makes his lungs rattle inside his ribcage as he nearly coughs them out. “It’s okay,” he croaks, unable to form longer sentences.

“Do you have anyone to take care of you while you’re sick?” Iker asks.

James takes a look around his empty apartment. “No?” he asks. He’s been living alone ever since he moved from Colombia.

“Alright, then I’ll get someone to show up around lunchtime with soup and cold medicine. Take care of yourself, alright?” 

“Wait, what? Iker, you don’t have to do that. I’m—” James stops talking as he realizes Iker has already hung up the phone call, “fine.”

James groans. The last thing he wants is one of his coworkers showing up to fuss over him and embarrass him. James stares at his phone for a long time before he decides trying to talk isn’t worth it and tows himself to his couch, where he falls asleep watching an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

At a little after two, Marcelo shows up with Isco in tow. As predicted, they wrap him up in two cozy blankets, feed him bland soup and enough pills to kill a small mammal and spend a whole hour making sure, “you’re comfortable and taken care of, _Jamesinho_.”

James closes his eyes and groans. “I hate you guys so much.”

“You love us,” Isco scruffles his hair and then kisses James’ temple.

“We need to leave to get back to work, and you need to rest so you can come back as soon as possible and continue flirting with Toni,” Marcelo wiggles his eyebrows at him, making James close his eyes and groan again. “We’ll send someone else tomorrow if you’re still feeling sick.”

Of course, neither of them gives James the time to answer before they’re storming out as quickly and abruptly as they’d come in. James slides down the couch until he can lie on its full surface, still wrapped tight in his blanket burrito. He’s far too sick to be handling his ridiculous friends.

He spends the rest of the day sleeping, waking up whenever he begins to suffocate on his pillow, wishing he was dead and craving his mother’s company like never before. He barely notices time go by if not for the rotation of the shows on television. James goes through four episodes of Project Runway, three of America’s Next Top Model and a two-hour long chat with his mom that makes him curse geography and whoever put Columbia so far away.

On Thursday, his visitor is none other than Cristiano, who brings three magazines, a pendrive with Real Madrid games and enough food to feed a small nation.

“Marcelo said you only had takeout in your fridge,” he says as a way of explanation while he stores away the food.

“Marcelo thinks everything is takeout ever since he became addicted to cooking shows,” James grumbles, although he doesn’t complain when Cristiano brings him a hot plate of atollao rice.

“True, but he was still right. Anyway, how are you feeling?” Cris asks. He sits down next to James and turns on the television.

James is only slightly embarrassed that E! is the channel it comes back to.

“Better, I think I might be able to come into work tomorrow. Also, this is delicious,” James points at his plate, “thank you,” he says. He doesn’t manage to hide the admiration from his voice, but he already has a tough time doing that around Cris on most days, so on his sick ones he’s definitely allowed some slack.

“You’re welcome, and you should only come back when you’re feeling one hundred percent. No pressure.”

“But work,” James says.

“Can wait,” Cristiano says as he gives a disbelieving look, paired up with a raised eyebrow and a frown that voice ‘Are you really arguing with me on this, kid?’ without words.

James kind of hates that he can read the word ‘kid’ from Cristiano’s eyebrows alone.

“Now,” Cristiano says, “Catfish or Shark Tank?”

“Catfish. I’ve already watched all of this season’s Shark Tank.”

They spend the next hour watching Nev throw a phone into a river and a girl finding her boyfriend on the other side of America is actually her next-door neighbor with a giant tattoo of her cat and greasy blonde hair.

On Friday morning, James’ throat is still making it hard for him to eat and he goes through a packet of tissues like they’re a bottle of hair gel and he’s Sergio Ramos’ 2011 haircut. Nevertheless, he can’t skip three full days of work and let everything pile up for next Monday, so around six o’clock he drags his ass out of his couch, puts on the biggest, warmest parka he owns and braves the cold streets of Madrid at the end of November.

By the time he gets to the office, most people are packing in for the day. They leave early since it’s Friday and cold or not, Fridays are meant to be celebrated. James would normally go with them if he weren’t, you know, still half-dead and desperate to catch up on work.

“Good luck,” Sergio tells him.

He he pats James on the head while Iker only says, “Please don’t puke and die,” to which James rolls his eyes at.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Jamesinho?” Marcelo asks. “It’s karaoke night and Cris said he’s going to buy everyone a round.”

“I’m good, thanks, just make to record any videos of everyone embarrassing themselves.”

Marcelo winks at him. “You got it.”

James boots up his Mac and starts work on the advertisements for mobile platforms. They’re keeping it simple, streamlined and focused with strong colors and bold letters, which is all James’ favorite type of work. Of course, being ads, there’s a lot of theory and thought behind them that James has to try to incorporate into everything he creates.

He opens his notes and photoshop before takes out his Wacom tablet and drinks a sip of his hot mochaccino. He then promptly groans as his Mac freezes and won’t respond to anything he does to it.

Of course, it’d be too much to ask that his computer actually work for once.

James picks up the phone to call IT even though he knows it’s hopeless. Nobody’s going to be around so late in the day on a Friday. He can probably ask Marcelo for his password, but he’s not going to have most of his notes, so that’s rather hopeless. James sighs. So much for being a productive member of society.

He’s about to hang up when someone answers the call.

“Hello?”

James perks up. “Toni? Hi, hey, it’s me James,” he says before he chastises himself. Toni probably doesn’t remember who he is, which is fine, no big deal, James has no reason to let that upset him. “Extension 132 on the third floor.”

“Yeah, I know you are. I hadn’t heard from you in a while, though. I thought someone had finally gotten you a new computer.”

James smiles at his reflection on his computer. So Toni’s been thinking about him.

“I couldn’t leave you without saying goodbye,” he risks, his grin widening when he hears Toni laugh on the other side of the line. “No, but really, I’ve missed work all week because I’ve been sick at home.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know. I hope you feel better now?” Toni says. He sounds embarrassed, which James finds cuter than it has any right to be.

“I’m good. Still living on a diet of soup and now coffee, behind on three day’s worth of work and have gone through four packets of tissues today alone, but hey, other than that I’m good,” James takes a sip of his coffee and holds back a sneeze to prove his point.

“That’s good to hear,” Toni’s laughter is slow and warm against James’ hear, “I’ve booted up your computer, but I think you should probably format the hard drive if you want it to keep working.”

James makes a little distress noise. “But that’s so much work.”

“If you want I can do it for you. I can do it after you leave and if you leave your backup I can even transfer all your files back when I’m done,” Toni says. Despite not knowing what he looks like, James can still picture him shrugging like what he’s offering is no trouble at all.

“Okay, first of all, I can’t ask you to do that because I’ve done it in the past and it takes ages and is a giant bore. Second, I have no clue when I’m leaving and I’m not gonna ask you to stay around until one in the morning to help me.”

“I’m working late too, so it’s no bother, but if it makes you feel better you can do something in return for me.”

“Like what?” James asks, squinting at his computer.

“Like buy me a cup of coffee and a hot sandwich.”

“Well, okay,” James says, giving in as he runs a hand over his face and tries to hide his smile. “I think we can work something out.”

On the other side of the line, Toni makes a cheering noise and says something in german.

“Are you alone in your office or are the other guys there?” James asks.

“Alone. Why?”

James takes a deep breath, gives himself a small pep talk in his best Cristiano voice and says, “I’m alone too. I was thinking you could come here if you’d like? I mean, only if that works for you, obviously, no pressure or anything.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes expecting a cup of coffee.”

“And the sandwich?”

“Not unless you have a panini press hidden there with you. It’s raining outside right now.”

“Later then,” James says.

“Later,” Toni agrees before hanging up.

James does a spin in his chair, logs into his account and then gets up to go get Toni’s coffee from the kitchen area. James spends two minutes staring at the espresso machine trying to figure out what Toni might like. He eventually gives up and gets him a simple coffee with milk and a spoonful of sugar. 

It’s not until he’s walking back to his desk that it hits him. He’s about to meet Toni, the hot, mysterious and german IT guy who he’s been talking to practically every day for four weeks now. 

What if he’s old, with gray hair and bordering on elderly? James can’t have a crush on a fifty-year-old guy. No one would ever forget it and neither would he. Or what if he’s ugly? James doesn’t consider himself superficial, but he can’t imagine ever liking someone with a monobrow and crooked, yellow teeth. Or what if _he_ thinks James is ugly?

James is about to get out his cell phone and call Cris or Marcelo—some things a man shouldn’t have to face alone—when the elevator doors open to show a tall, blue-eyed blonde with a slim body and a timid smile.

Holy moly.

“Hello,” James says, flashing Toni his best smile. He’s been told it makes him look like a mix between the boy mothers want their daughters to date and a supermodel. He thinks it’s just a nice smile.

Toni smiles back, shaking James’ hand and making a humming noise in contentment when James hands him his cup of coffee. “It’s nice to finally meet you after so long fixing your computer over the phone,” Toni says.

“Thank you for that, by the way. If it weren’t for you, I’d have lost all my files a long time ago.”

“You don’t have a backup of everything?” Toni’s eyes bug out to ridiculously large proportions.

“Not really? I mean I have the most important stuff synced with my Dropbox account, but not everything…”

Toni pinches his mouth. James can tell he’s trying extremely hard not to judge James and mostly failing. “Can you work from my laptop?” he asks.

“Do you have photoshop?” Toni nods. “Then sure, I just need to grab my notes.”

“Alright,” Toni says. He steals Marcelo’s chair and sets up his laptop in James’ desk, sitting by his side. After a couple of minutes they switch chairs, Toni getting to work in saving all of James’ files and formatting his computer.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but will you be able to put everything back where it was or will I be spending all of Monday organizing my computer?” James asks.

“I’ll put everything back, don’t worry,” Toni says with a smug smile that James stares at for a long time until he catches what he’s doing and goes back to his work.

Every so often, he’ll look at Toni again and stare. It’s weird to be working side by side after so long not even knowing what he looked like, but James has no complaints. This Toni right here is better than any Toni James could have ever made up in his head, made so even better when he goes to the bathroom and comes back with a packet of skittles from the vending machine.

After two hours, James’ eyes burn from the strain of staring at a bright laptop screen for too long and he has to pull back and blink a couple of times.

“How’s formatting my computer going?”

“Good. I’ve got your backup done and started deleting the hard drive. What about you? You work in ad design right?” Toni asks, which is how James finds himself talking about his work for ten minutes. He talks about how this is the first project he’s in charge of, how he’s nervous, but also excited, and how he’s been planning everything down to cellular level because he believes anything else isn’t enough.

Toni listens the whole time with a calm smile on his face, asking questions in all the right places.

“And these kind of projects, they’re always both really tiring and stressful, you know? But I love them anyway. I love graphic design and I love examining my own work and everyone here has been awesome to work with so far.”

“I know what you mean. I haven’t met the guys up here yet, but I love everyone in the programmers group, or as Bale insists on calling us, the foreign nerd squad,” Toni says with a suffering look that has James laughing out loud.

“I could join your club one day,” James says.

Toni lifts his eyebrows. “You’re not from here?”

James doesn’t know what he thinks about Toni picking up on that and not the ‘nerd’ part.

“Colombian born and raised,” he says anyway, “and you? My great detective skills tell me you’re not from here, but I could be wrong,” James strokes his chin thoughtfully and looks Toni up and down.

“That!” Toni says, pointing at James with one hand as he stretches his back, pulling every muscle to the limit, “is a conversation to be had while eating the panini I was promised.”

James laughs. “Come on then,” he says.

This time, it’s Toni’s turn to tell James about himself. He’s shy at first, hesitating to speak for too long about himself. James encourages him by making encouraging noises of agreement every now and then. He finds them a quiet table away from everyone else at the café they went to and with time, Toni starts to relax. He tells James about how he decided to move to Madrid after getting his degree in programming and how it was the most exciting, terrifying decision he ever made. He didn’t know anyone, didn’t speak a word of Spanish and kept showing up at restaurants around noon and make waiters and cooks alike hate him.

James laughs way harder than he should when Toni tells him about how he couldn’t even ask for coffee when he first got to Madrid, and that he spent a whole month drinking espressos before he finally found the guts to order something else.

“But how? It’s so simple, you just have to say ‘ _un café con leche, por favor’_.”

“I know, but I felt so awkward! I couldn’t even look at the waiter's face when I first ordered it and it took me three times to get the pronunciation right,” Toni uses his hands to speak when he’s excited and he’s now waving them around wildly, his sandwich long since forgotten.

“You managed to get a job at Blanco, though, so you couldn’t have been that awkward.”

“That’s because everyone in the programmers den speaks in English, thank god. If my interview had been done in Spanish I would have choked on my tongue and suffocated to death.”

“A little bit dramatic, aren’t we?” James says as he takes a large bite of his food.

Toni’s foot kicks his under the table. “I’m realistic. The Toni you’re speaking to now is a Toni who’s been living in Spain for a year and who took an intensive course in Spanish over the Summer. Recently moved to Madrid Toni was very different.”

James rolls his eyes at him, but he can’t help the smile that slips out anyway. “And I gotta say, this Toni speaks Spanish very well, which is a good thing since I don’t speak a word of English.”

“I’m sure we would have managed. Me, stumbling every two words and blushing so hard I looked like I had a constant sunburn. You, politely pretending you could understand a word I said.”

“A match made in heaven,” James says as he laughs, the implication behind his words not hitting him until he’s uttered them.

Luckily, Toni doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, laughing with James at their shared joke.

When they go back to their office, a splintering headache begins to bloom inside James’ skull. Toni tells him he’s not up for doing anymore work either, so they both decide it’s time to pack up and leave.

They stand side by side on the elevator, their arms brushing and one of Toni’s feet pushed against his. James tries not to stare at the man next to him. He fails, badly, and ends up looking away when he catches Toni staring back.

James starts tapping his foot on the ground. He wonders if it’s too forward to ask Toni if he wants to grab lunch on Monday. Perhaps he can call IT and casually bring it up? He’ll have to pretend his computer is still broken even after Toni formatted it, but a small white lie never hurt anyone, unless Toni noticed what he was doing and flat out rejected him. That would definitely hurt.

The elevator doors open and they step out. James stares at his feet as he walks. He catches Toni staring at him out the corner of his eye. He lifts his head and smiles, which immediately makes Toni smile back.

When they reach the door and step out into the crisp cold air, Toni’s foot nudges his once again. James thinks about saying something in regards to Toni dirtying his shoes, but he still hasn’t tried cleaning them since the morning from hell and it’s hard to stain something that’s already filthy.

“They’re really dirty, aren’t—“

“I was wondering if I could—“

They both try to speak at the same time, which results in them talking over one another and not catching a word of what the other is saying. They laugh at the same time. James notices the pink flush high up on Toni’s cheeks.

“I was about to fill the silence with nonsense,” James says, “so you go.”

“I was gonna ask if I can have your number, so we can text about work and… stuff,” Toni says, biting down on his bottom lip and looking at James through his eyelashes in a way that should not be that attractive in a grown man.

“Sure,” James says, a little dumbfounded, but mostly pleased with himself for apparently sending Toni the right signals.

James is only a tiny embarrassed to say he spends the whole weekend texting with Toni like a lovesick teenager.

He’d feel more embarrassed if Toni didn’t start as many conversations as him and if the texting hadn’t led to them going out to watch Real’s game together.

That Saturday night, James discovers three things. One, that Toni downs beer like it’s water; two, that the more alcohol he drinks, the further his ability to speak Spanish is diminished and three, that he knows his football, providing good commentary the whole game and making James literally snort his beer once from Toni’s dry humour.

By the time Monday rolls along, James has a new plan for his phone with unlimited texting and has agreed to go out for lunch with Toni in what may or may not be a date. James is ninety-percent sure it’s a date, but he doesn’t want to jinx it.

This doesn’t stop him from coming into work with a smile on his face, but it does stop him from further texting Toni, if only because he knows people would notice and eventually someone—Isco or Pepe—would steal his phone to look at his messages.

Of course, all of James’ efforts prove meaningless when Toni follows him out of the elevator after lunch to install a program in his Mac that’s meant to manage it’s memory usage or something like that. James will admit he was too busy staring at Toni while he talked to understand what he said.

James is not, however, clueless enough not to notice the subtle change in the office while they’re up there. The way everyone lifts their head an extra inch and stops to stare as Toni gives James’ arm a friendly squeeze before he leaves.

Thankfully, Toni doesn’t notice anything and James still smiles back at him like he’s the sun and the moon coiled tight inside a human body. Who knew he had such little control over himself?

“James,” Marcelo asks once Toni is gone. He looks at James like he’s never seen him before, “was that who I think it was?”

“Damn. Hot, mysterious and german is actually hot,” Isco says after letting out a low whistle.

“Oh my god, his name is Toni.” James covers his face beneath his hands and sidles down his chair until only the top of his head can be seen.

“Look at you already defending him. Young love develops so quickly nowadays,” Marcelo says, pretending to tear up. Pepe throws Marcelo a box of tissues from the other side of the office and Cristiano comes out of his office to lay a hand on Marcelo’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. Love is a beautiful experience that’s meant to be shared and appreciated. All that matters is that they use protection—”

“Please stop talking,” James begs.

“—and take care of each other.”

James removes his hands from his face to glare at Cristiano. “You’re not even that older than me.”

“I am old in experience and wise beyond my years, young James,” Cris says, glaring at James as Marcelo blows his nose.

“That’s so bullshit,” shouts Iker from his office, his head popping out through the door.

“Casillas, please! You’re ruining the moment.” Cris stamps his foot on the floor.

“And you’re ruining work productivity and bullying Jamesinho.”

“Just James is fine too,” James says, too quiet to be heard by his colleagues.

Cris huffs and murmurs something about not coming to him for help when everyone in the office has herpes. He ruffles James’s hair as he walks past him—asshole—and manages to peck Iker on the cheek before he trails into his own separate office.

James grabs the water bottle on his desk and takes a large sip. He closing his eyes for a second while he gathers his wits. When he opens them, he finds Marcelo leaning over his desk so that he’s nearly on top of James.

“You need to tell me everything.”

“I don’t actually.”

“I’m your best friend.”

“Hey!”

“Isco and I are your best friends,” Marcelo continues without skipping a beat.

Isco gets up and joins Marcelo on the ‘give James puppy eyes until he complies’ mission. 

James sighs and gets up, heading towards the kitchen. He doesn’t have to look back to know Marcelo and Isco trail after him. “Okay, so,” James says and tells them everything from the calling Toni on Friday night to the constant texting, skipping out on the parts that make him sound like too much of a teenager in love.

“So that’s why you couldn’t watch the game with me on Saturday. You were busy flirting with the german!”

James shrugs. What can he say? He has the right priorities. Although, for the sake of his bloated ego on the break of exploding, he adds, “We’re not _flirting_. We’re talking. As friends.”

Marcelo shakes his head. “You’re definitely flirting.”

“Absolutely. He called you yesterday while he was grocery shopping and asked you what type of cookies he should get,” Isco says.

A blush runs up to James’ cheeks. Toni had, in fact, done that and James had found the whole thing more endearing than what is reasonable. He kind of regrets telling Isco about it, though. “That’s not flirting,” he stutters.

Marcelo and Isco give him a condescending look that’s not unkind. Marcelo steps forward to put a hand on James’ shoulder. “Please don’t pull a Sergio and Iker and spend years trailing after each other before you admit your feelings for one another. It’s not fair to you or him or to anyone who has to deal with you two.”

Then he walks away in a curtain of smoke and mirrors. Isco follows Marcelo’s footsteps, putting a hand on James’ shoulder as well and giving him a solemn look. “Go for the D,” is all he says.

James groans. When he’s older and a world-renowned graphic artist, he’s going to release an autobiography named ‘All of my friends are assholes’ and then, finally, people will understand his struggle.

He texts Toni a quick ‘my friends suck’, which earns him a ‘?’ at first and then a ‘want to get dinner later? my treat :)’. The text has James grinning at his phone like an idiot until he reins himself in and goes back to his desk.

Over the course of the next three weeks, he and Toni go out eleven times. This includes a trip to the movies to see _Interstellar_ , which they both agree to be mindblowingly amazing; dinner Colombian restaurant that never fails to makes James homesick; lunch at a German bar; and visit to the Del Prado museum because neither of them have ever been, despite living in Madrid for over a year.

Throughout those three weeks, James also receives many suggestive looks, innocuous comments and a truly horrifying and traumatizing talk from Iker about inter-office relationships that James has mostly blocked out by now. No man should have to listen to his boss say ‘loving homosexual relationships’. No man.

Excused to say, James ignores all of them.

The truth is, James likes Toni. As in, he genuinely likes him as a person and as a friend, and it’s not that James doesn’t love Marcelo, Cris, Isco and everyone else because he does.  They’re all tremendous people and sometimes James is overwhelmed by how they’re all such a big part of his life now and how they all like him back, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s that he likes Toni in a different way; a way that’s more quiet and subtle, but just as intoxicating. And as much as he doesn’t want to pull a Sergio and Iker, he also doesn’t want to ruin things by rushing them or being too obnoxious.

It’s not as if there’s anything wrong with the way things are going now, no matter how much everyone insists he should open his eyes and, “get on with it already,” which never fails to make James sigh.

The only person who gives him reasonable advice is Cristiano, who says, “just do what you think you should do.”

James nods and says, “you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Cristiano says before he winks at him and leaves.

Since James isn’t going home for the holidays, he doesn’t get any of the Christmas jitters everyone else gets. Sergio, Iker, Cristiano and Isco have all invited him to spend the day with them and their respective families, but James has politely refused their offers. Christmas is meant to be shared with a person’s loved ones and James doesn’t want to intrude on anyone’s family time. Although he can’t deny that seeing the household of ‘Grumpy’ Casillas and ‘Pumped up’ Ramos get together would be quite an experience.

He asks Toni to go grab a cup of coffee with him the day before Toni’s flight is scheduled to leave for Germany. The weather forecast says it’s going to snow. While James is reluctant to believe them, he’s never seen a real snowfall before, so can’t be at home when it happens, even if in the end the snowfall turns out to be three white flakes and lots of rain.

“You do realize snow is technically water, right? And that we’re going to get wet and cold and probably get stuck here after the whole city freezes because it always forgets how to deal with snow,” Toni says. He has his hands around a festive Starbucks cup, a Real Madrid scarf wrapped tight around his neck and a long, pea coat draped over his shoulders.

“But it’s _snow_ ,” James sing-songs, grinning when Toni looks at him with repulse.

“I’m already going to see plenty of it over the next few days, thanks,” he says.

James scoffs. “Which is why you are unable to appreciate this amazing moment, Mr. Grinch. Now please, let us go to the park and wait until there’s enough snow for me to throw a snowball at your face.”

“As you wish, my king,” Toni says with a sigh. Despite not being able to see his mouth, James still knows he’s smiling at him.

They go to the Parque del Retiro, where the lake is nearly frozen and the grass is beginning to crystallize. “My hands are cold,” Toni whines after he’s dumped his empty cup of coffee in a trash can.

“Then you should have worn gloves,” James says, rolling his eyes.

Toni gives him sad puppy eyes and honestly this is ridiculous. They’re both grown men. Puppy eyes should not be making James pick Toni’s hands and trap them between his so they can share his warmth.

“I thought you’d said the cold didn’t affect you because you’re german,” James says, recalling Toni’s words from earlier in the day.

“That was before some nutjob decided it was a good idea to go to a deserted park before a snowfall,” Toni says, sounding altogether far too bitter for someone who’s taken another step closer to James and bumped their foreheads together.

“A nutjob, huh,” James says, bumping Toni back. “Must be a pretty cool guy deep down for you to agree to his crazy plans.”

“He’s alright.” Toni moves away and pulls his scarf down until it’s no longer covering his face and James can see him grinning.

“Just alright?” James asks, incredulous and smiling despite himself.

“There is always room for improvement,” Toni says before he turns around and literally takes off running, leaving James to run after him.

They dart through the trees, jump over a creek with some killer parkour moves that would look good on Youtube and run until neither is chilled anymore. Sweat breaks out beneath their heavy clothes and makes them light-headed, but all of it goes unnoticed beneath the sound of their laughter, childish and full of life. They run until James finally manages to catch up to Toni in a last sprint and sends them both flying onto a pile of leaves.

They lie on the ground until they catch their breath, James on top of Toni, who makes a surprisingly comfortable pillow. Not that James needs to know these things.

“Get off me, you _fettes Brot_.”

James does so, rolling off Toni until he’s lying on his back. “Did you just call me ‘fat bread’?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Maybe.”

James wants to make some remark about Toni being slower than a snail, but he’s too caught up in Toni’s ridiculous smile and the way he looks so proud of his catastrophically bad joke, so instead all he says is, “Okay.”

“I call you fat bread and all you have to say is ‘okay’?” Toni asks, getting up on his elbow to look down at James.

“Yupe,” James grins up.

He watches in slow-motion as Toni leans down and whispers against his lips, “alright,” and then they’re kissing, slow and perfect and still breathing like there’s an open space in their torsos sucking in all the air.

James pulls Toni down until they’re chest to chest. Toni has one hand on the ground and the other behind James’ neck, holding it up as they filter out the rest of the world.

James closes his eyes only to open them a few seconds later when Toni moves away to give them both space to breathe. He stares at Toni, gaze moving from his lips to his eyes and then to his hair and the way he’s right there. It marvels James, who wishes to trap this moment in a snowglobe and preserve it beyond time itself. There is no doubt that his infatuation has gone far beyond a simple crush, but that thought doesn’t scare him any longer. How could it, when he has been waiting for this for so long? James is about to pull Toni down for another kiss when he sees what’s above them.

“Oh my god,” he squeaks, making Toni look at him in worry.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s snowing!” he exclaims, pointing at the sky. Toni groans and drops his head on James’ shoulder, but it doesn’t stay there for long as James begins to sit up. “Come on!”

“Come on _where_?” Toni complains, sounding as bitter as a lemon, but eventually sitting up when laying all his weight on James to keep him from moving proves ineffective.

“Come on let’s go see the snow fall from the glass house. I bet it looks amazing from there,” James says. Without thinking, he takes Toni’s hand and pulls him up, guiding them back towards where they came from.

“I’ve got to tell you,” Toni says, “if this is your way of telling me to back off, a simple ‘stop’ would have sufficed.”

Oh, right. James had forgotten the kiss at the sight of the first snowflakes falling from the sky, which sounds ridiculous now that he thinks it. It’s not as if kissing Toni has been high up on his list of daydreams or anything.

He pauses, pulling Toni against his chest with the force of his momentum in a cool, James Bond way. “This is not my way of telling you to back off. This is the exact opposite of that, actually.”

James runs a hand through Toni’s blonde hair, which he’s been dying to do ever since he first saw it. He reaches up, putting his weight on the tip of his toes as he leans in to kiss Toni again. 

“Good,” Toni murmurs.

He wraps his arms around James’ waist and they stay like that, hidden behind naked trees in a winter wonderland, kissing until James backs away and grins. He doesn’t even have to say anything this time. Toni reads his mind with ease, huffing before he says, “Alright, alright. Let’s go see the damn snow.”

The snowfall is a bit like James predicted. A couple of white flakes and lots of rain, but it’s still a sight to see, especially with Toni’s hands in his back pockets since, according to Toni, ”They’re still cold.” 

It gives them a good excuse to stay out longer as well, moving at a glacial pace home, where Toni will leave for Germany and won’t return for ten days.

“Don’t burn down your apartment while I’m gone,” Toni says.

“Don’t slip on ice and fall,” James replies.

“Don’t rot in front of your television because you’re too scared to go out and be with your friends.”

James rolls his eyes. “Don’t—” he freezes, catching the next words before they leave his mouth. He was about to say, ‘don’t stay in Germany and forget about me,’ but it’s far too early for that, “—forget how to speak in Spanish.”

“So bossy already. At least I now know what to say when somebody asks who wears the pants in this relationship,” Toni complains, but he’s smiling, so James doesn’t take it too heart. He also doesn’t miss the implication of what Toni’s just said.

“Tell them we both wear the pants, thank you very much,” he says, and of course he’s smiling too.

They both seem to do a lot of that, bicker while grinning at each other, delighted in the responses they elicit. Sometimes James catches himself doing it and he almost wants to shake his own shoulders and tell himself he’s way too old to be acting like this.

Then again, when has taking the safe route ever helped him? It didn’t get him his degree, nor did it get him to pack up one day and move to Madrid, and those were two of the best decisions he’s ever made.

Toni leaves James’ home a little after ten. His plane departs on the early hours of the morning and he still wants to catch a few hours of sleep before he leaves to, “prepare myself for the onslaught of nosy family members who haven’t seen me since last Easter.”

“Good luck,” James says, and then he kisses Toni just because he can.

The next few days aren’t so bad. James goes to work on the twenty-second and spends the twenty-third with Isco, doing some last minute shopping in Isco’s case and drinking all the Christmas drinks available in James’. He texts Toni pictures throughout the day, taking full advantage of his data plan.

On the twenty-fourth, James goes over to Sergio and Iker's at their insistence. They’re apparently combining all the traumatizing family events for the twenty-fifth and need someone to help with cooking and final decorating touches, which is a lie, but James figures one day as a third wheel isn’t so bad. This time, it’s Toni’s turn to send him pictures of himself wearing a bright red Christmas sweater with Rudolph on it while holding up two kids under his arms. Toni looks awkward and adorable with his blush and his crooked smile. The caption says ‘things family makes you do’ and James laughs harder than he should.

In return, James sends him a picture of Sergio proudly wearing his gold-sequins jacket. For the caption, he writes ‘things nobody needs to force Sergio Ramos to do’.

Twenty-fifth is spent on lots of Skype calls and lots of sad moping around the house. It’s without a doubt the loneliest day of his vacation. James figures spending the night watching warm, cozy Christmas movies doesn’t help his situation, but whatever. He’s alone on Christmas night, he has the right to be sad and miserable.

“You’re like the Grinch,” Marcelo tells him when he calls late at night through Skype.

James sputters. “How am I like the Grinch? I wanted to go home. It’s not my fault my bank account is at zeros.”

“You could have asked Ancelotti for an advance in your salary,” Marcelo says, peering at James through the screen with his large eyes.

“I know, but I want to go to Colombia in the summer and to do that I need to start saving, not spending. But anyway!” he exclaims, “How is Christmas in the Vieira household?”

Marcelo groans, “I’m dying, Jamesinho. _Dying_.” 

And that’s how James finds himself listening about Marcelo’s little cousins wanting to play at Wild West and tying Marcelo to a chair because they need someone to rescue. This game, according to Marcelo, mainly involves kids running around him as they shout at the top of the lungs and hit him with spatulas.

“It’s not funny,” Marcelo whines.

“It is, though. It’s something out of a comedy that went to straight to DVD.”

“Oh, come on,” Marcelo grumbles, “It’s at the very least ‘Home Alone’ quality.”

James laughs as he shakes his head. After they end the call, James sighs and throws himself on his bed, pulling until he’s got one of his stray blankets around his slim torso. He’d meant to tell Marcelo about him and Toni, but in the end the words had gotten stuck in his throat and he couldn’t find a way to push them out.

He’s not sure what he’s nervous about. He and Toni might be a new thing, but James is sure that they are _something_ —something serious that’s not yet crystallised, something that’s still growing, something great—and that he doesn’t have to worry about Toni ditching him for some German guy while he’s home. James is sure of all this, and yet. 

Yet, he’s still home alone on Christmas night and he’s only known Toni for two months. James has known nice guys who turned out to be not so nice after all and he worries.

He worries.

It’s raining outside his bedroom window. James gnaws on the skin beneath his thumb and pulls his blanket tighter around himself. 

On the twenty-sixth, he goes for a walk on his own. The sky is a lucid, light blue and the morning air burns down his nose with each inhale. James’ scarf is a deep red and mustard yellow color. He wraps it around his mouth, tucked right beneath his nose so he can still breathe comfortably. The streets are mostly empty, but of course, with Madrid there are always people around.

James trails after no one and nothing. He looks up and admires the buildings around him, the outlines of a city that never ceases to amaze him. He eats a large slice of red velvet cake in a Starbucks and texts a picture of it alongside his hot chocolate to Toni, who doesn’t reply.

James stares at his phone for a while, waiting for the flash of light that never comes. He pockets it after he’s done eating.

The clouds begin to filter into the city landscape as he walks home. The news reports say it might snow again tonight. James doesn’t know how global warming works, but he figures that’s the only thing that can explain two snow days in a month.

This time he’s not as excited. He blames it on the fact that he’s already seen a snowfall for his lack of interest and not the fact that he’s lacking last time’s company.

He’s not sure who he’s trying to fool with his lie.

He doesn’t get out of bed on the twenty-seventh.

He’s not moping, sulking or any of that. He is simply reveling in the comfort of his own bed, which was the only piece of furniture James owned for a good month after he moved to Madrid. It’s large enough to fit four-people comfortably, takes up almost the entire room, cost James an arm and a leg and was, without a doubt, worth every penny.

At around ten, he rolls out of bed—literally rolls out, getting his feet stuck in the sheets and his face mashed against the floor in the process before he manages to slip out—and gets some cereal to eat. He returns to bed not long after.

At eleven, somebody rings on his doorbell, which makes him groan. If this is Isco, who has been texting him about ‘going out to do bro stuff’, James is seriously going to kill someone.

And by ‘kill someone’, he means he’s going to glare at Isco for five minutes before his feeble attempts at being annoyed vanish and he agrees to go out. James has always been an easy person to push-over, especially if the words ‘free food’ are voiced at any point.

With all the time in the world, James pushes himself off the bed. He puts on the large slippers shaped like dogs his mother sent him and decides against taking one of his blankets with him for warmth. He doesn’t want to give Isco the pleasure of seeing him look that pathetic.

The doorbell rings again, making James shout, “One second! Jeez, impatient much,” as he shuffles to the living room.

James pulls open his door with a little too much force than necessary, still half-asleep and far too grumpy, and then he stands there with his mouth open. He blinks a couple of times to clear his eyes, but nope, his eyes aren’t lying to him. The man standing in front of him is truly there, wearing a gigantic parka, a scarf and a beanie and somehow still pink-faced from the cold.

“Hi,” Toni says.

“Hi,” James replies. They stare at each other until James gives in and asks, “What are you doing here?” Toni cringes and James immediately backtracks, “Not that I’m not happy to see you! It’s just that I thought you’d be in Germany until January.”

“And I was, but my family was driving me wild. I’d forgotten how loud kids could be and everyone kept asking who I was texting and it was all too much.”

“Really?” James asks, raising an eyebrow at Toni, who is talking faster than James has ever seen him.

“Yeah and my father has like, all these extra miles from travelling for work and I saw an opening for a flight today, so I decided to be spontaneous and booked it. Only now I’m thinking maybe I should have called ahead instead of springing up on you like this.”

“It’s okay,” James gives Toni a luxurious once over, examining from head to toe, which is when he realizes Toni’s pinks cheeks aren’t from the cold.

“Oh and I bought you a gift. A Christmas gift,” Toni adds.

James nods and waits for Toni to continue. He’s enjoying himself far too much than he should. 

Toni opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to say something else, then closes it. They stare at each other for a couple more seconds until James takes mercy on him and concludes, "You missed me," with a face-splitting grin.

It’s not a question, but Toni still nods in reply anyway, as if he’s relieved to admit the truth, and repeats James’ words. "I missed you.”

They stand there for a couple of seconds, smiling at each other beneath James’ doorway, until eventually James says, “You should come in,” and Toni nods again. 

He stumbles in, almost as if a little dazed, and James knows what that’s like. Toni drags his suitcase beneath him, which means he didn’t even stop by his place before he came to James’. James taps the plastic case with his feet, making Toni look down and blush, “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine, really,” James pushes Toni against the closed door, “I was kind of driving myself crazy here, too.”

Toni starts to laugh, the sound of it cut off by James’ lips on his own in a kiss that goes from sweet and shy to open and downright filthy in less than five seconds.

Everything that happens from that point onwards is simple; instinctual. Even though everything about them is still fresh like the first spatters of rain after a long summer, having Toni in his arms reminds James of how much he’d missed having him in his life.

James leaves a trail of kisses up Toni’s jaw until he reaches Toni’s neck, which he bites, softly at first and then a little harder when Toni thrusts his hips against his.

“James,” Toni whispers, and he already sounds so wrecked, his voice a notch lower than it usually is.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on,” James says, not caring about what they do just so long as they do something.

One of James’ hands opens the zip on Toni’s coat while the other pushes off. Toni helps him by tugging off his scarf and throwing his beanie on the floor at the same time. Toni’s sweater is next, followed by James’ pajama shirt with the pug wearing a santa hat.

By the time they make it to the bedroom, James’ apartment has clothes strewn all over the floor and there’s a broken vase on the floor from when James pushed Toni against a dresser without looking.

That day, James discovers what a naked Toni looks like sprawled on his bed and the choked-off noise he makes as he comes, both of which things he won’t soon forget.

He also learns that Toni’s out for the count for a good two minutes after he comes and that when that’s done he’s as cuddly as a teddy bear. James would be lying if he said this doesn’t please him to no ends. He’s always been a cuddler and it would suck if Toni turned out to be one of those people who talk about ‘sides of the bed’ and don’t enjoy being used as a human furnace.

James is lying on top of Toni’s chest, debating on whether they should take a nap or go for round two, when he’s interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of a phone ringing.

The sound James makes closely resembles a pissed off cat who’s just been forced to take a bath. It makes Toni chuckle—traitor—and reach for the phone himself. “It’s Marcelo,” he says.

James takes the offered phone and pushes himself on his elbows so that at least he has something nice to look at while his peace is disturbed.

“Guess who’s back, bitch?” Marcelo shouts.

James immediately pushes his phone away from his ear and frowns before he pulls it back. “Unfortunately, I’m guessing not Britney Spears unless you happened to befriend her while you were gone,” he says. Toni raises both eyebrows at him. James draws a heart on his chest and shrugs.

“Nah, sorry. The princess of pop doesn’t vacation in Brazil, but I’ll be sure to mention you’re a big fan if I ever see her. Anyway, my delightful self is back and I know you’re at home right now, all sad and miserable, probably crying on your food and wondering why life is so cruel to you—” James snorts “—which is why we should totally go out for lunch so I can bring sunshine into your life again.”

“Just sunshine? I thought you’d bring way more than that. What about a sense of purpose or hope? Don’t I need those as well?” Toni snorts at James’ words.

“I’ll bring everything you need, Jamesinho. I’ll be like a mix between Cris, Santa and Batman.” Marcelo says.

James doesn’t bother asking about the questionable thought process. He’s busy staring down at Toni, who, despite having closed his eyes, is still drawing soft circles with the pad of his thumbs on James’ hips. 

“I’m actually doing alright,” he says. “I have some new company since the last time you called." That gets Toni to open his eyes and stare at him wide-eyed before he smiles up at James, who smiles back, laughing as Toni scratches his hip.

“Who? Did you get a dog or something? I thought your lease didn’t allow you to have a pet.”

“He’s not a pet,” James laughs.

“He?” Marcelo lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Jamesinho, are you with hot, mysterious and german?”

Marcelo’s question is voiced a tad too loud, because it makes Toni’s eyes widen comically. “Hot, mysterious and german?” he asks, staring at James in confusion.

“It caught on,” James says as a way of explanation. It’s the best he can give him without dying of embarrassment.

“Oh my god, you are. Oh man, just wait until Cris hears about this. Now we totally need to go out for lunch,” Marcelo says.

He’s still being his usual, loud self, which means Toni hears every word he says and James has no choice but to ask, “Do you wanna go?”

James has always known he’d have to introduce Toni to his friends at some point if things between them kept going steadily, but he always thought he’d have more time. Meeting Marcelo, Cris and Isco seems like the type of thing one needs to be mentally prepared for, and James wants to give Toni that preparation before he thrusts him into the wild world of karaoke nights and hand-designed calendars with embarrassing pictures stolen from their Facebook accounts.

“He’s your friend, right?” Toni asks.

“His best friend!” Marcelo shouts over the phone before James gets the chance to reply, making them all laugh.

“Then we’ll go,” Toni says, a little louder to make sure Marcelo can hear him.

“That’s the spirit. El Bisonte at two. If you’re late I’ll know what you’re doing,” Marcelo says before he hangs up.

James laughs again and dumps his phone on his nightstand before he leans down to kiss Toni on the lips. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“No problem,” Toni murmurs, kissing him back. “What time is it?”

James checks his phone. “A little after noon.”

“Well then, we can go see what I bought you for Christmas—”

“Do you really think I didn’t buy you something as well—”

“Or we could go make the most of our time. Don’t wanna be late for lunch,” Toni says with an innocent grin.

James grins back and as Toni rolls them over and starts leaving a trail of love bites all down his chest, he thinks, _Merry Christmas to me_.


End file.
